Trouble Don’t Last Always Read Online Free Page A

out of the car. There was no use opening the dented hood to look at the engine; she knew next to nothing about cars.
    Shielding her eyes against the hot midday sun, Lilly stared ahead of her and behind. All she saw was the black winding two-lane road bordered by dense green trees, tangled weeds among waist-high bushes, and a creek filled with murky green water that snaked beside the road.
    Reaching through the open window, she took out the three-state map that connected Texas, Louisiana, and Arkansas and studied it. The blunt tip of her unpainted nail raked over Shreveport, Louisiana, then paused. Obviously she’d taken the wrong exit off the freeway for New Orleans, but she had no idea how close she was to another town.
    She bit her lower lip. Reading maps was something else she wasn’t good at.
    “I always told you you were worth next to nothing.”
    Myron’s often-spoken words came out of nowhere, seeping into her brain, shaking her newly emerging confidence. For a long moment, as she had always done, she drew into herself, bowing her head, accepting her husband’s accusations.
    A gentle breeze tugged the map in her hand, reminding her of her promise to never let him dictate to her again. Her head lifted; determination instead of defeat shone in her narrowed brown eyes. Tomorrow or the next day he’d be served with the divorce papers and she’d be one step further to having her freedom from him.
    “You’re wrong, Myron.”
    Lilly spoke aloud the words she never could say before. There had to be something in this world she was good at. God gave everyone a special gift; she just hadn’t found hers yet.
    So, she’d taken a wrong turn off the freeway and ended up on some back road with her car now smoking like a freight train. She was a grown woman, wasn’t she? She could figure out what to do.
    But nothing came to her as one hour ticked into the next. A truck passed, followed by a late-model Chevrolet with three wide-eyed children in the back. Neither slowed despite her frantic waving. Doubt tinged with an escalating fear began to creep into her mind. Glancing back down the road from which she had come, she tucked her lower lip between her teeth. Nothing.
    And if another car did pass, would they stop? People weren’t as quick to help strangers anymore. Woman or not.
    Opening the car door, she rolled up the windows, then slung the narrow black strap of her purse over her shoulder and locked the car. She’d do what she had done most of her life: rely on herself.
    Without further hesitation, she began walking the way she had come. At least that way she knew she’d eventually reach a service station. If she continued, she wasn’t so sure.
    Less than two miles down the road she glimpsed the red slate roof of a house peeking through towering oak trees. With excitement rushing through her, her pace increased. When she stood in front of the wide arms of an intricately scrolled black iron entry gate, she realized why she hadn’t seen the mansion when she passed. The two-story house sat at least 500 feet from the road at the arch of the curve. Her attention had been on maneuvering the sharp turn, not her surroundings.
    Nestled beneath moss-draped oaks, the immense home was breathtaking. A balcony ran the length of the second floor. To Lilly it looked like something out of a movie of days gone by when the plantation owner took his ease while the slaves worked the fields.
    As she walked closer, she saw that the house had a stucco exterior and was painted a pale yellow with white trim. Chastising herself for her wayward imagination, she continued up the tree-lined path. Her mother had always said she kept her head in too many books. But books had been her salvation then and now. Closer, she realized the house hadn’t been here in the 1800s and the owners were probably very friendly toward black people.
    But what if they weren’t? Her steps slowed. She hadn’t dealt with many rich people, black or white. In Little Elm